


Take a Good Look You're Bound to See (that you and me were meant to be)

by shocked_into_shame



Series: The Adventures of Billy, Steve, & Lars [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Dorks in Love, Falling In Love, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, billy adopts a dog, but there's a dog, dog fluff, just an all-around sweet time, they are both out of character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 01:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18297707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shocked_into_shame/pseuds/shocked_into_shame
Summary: Billy adopts a dog. Steve really, really likes the dog.And maybe - just maybe - he really really likes Billy, too.





	Take a Good Look You're Bound to See (that you and me were meant to be)

**Author's Note:**

> I mostly wrote this for me, because I can't get the idea of Billy having a dog out of my head, dammit. 
> 
> I'm really attached to the dog I've created as well as these characterizations of Billy and Steve, so I am tentatively creating a series out of this. I will most likely write drabbles/assorted dog-related adventures following this story. 
> 
> Named after a Beatles song, which sounds like a really romantic tune until you realize Paul McCartney wrote it about his dog. 
> 
> Please let me know if you enjoy!

It’s a warm summer day in Hawkins, the kind of day that makes Steve itch to get outside and bask in the warm air. Not a stifling sense of warmth, no, but the kind that wraps around you lovingly, with the occasional relief of a cool breeze. It’s lucky, then, that Steve has taken the day off from Scoops Ahoy, and can take a leisurely stroll around Lochnora, sunglasses on his face and hands in his pockets.

 

He’s mostly zoning out, mind on other things, until a big, frankly _adorable_ dog appears from seemingly nowhere, ambling up to him, his giant paws tapping on the asphalt. One of his ears is up and the other flops down, bouncing slightly with every step. His big tongue hangs out the side of his panting mouth, and Steve absolutely melts at the sight of him.

 

“Aw, who are you?” Steve asks, sliding his sunglasses up to rest on his head and crouching down. The dog stares at him with big, dopey eyes and lets out a bark in reply. Steve reaches down and looks at the dog’s tag, attached to an unassuming brown leather collar. A simple inscription says: _IF LOST, CALL B.H._ with a number underneath it.

 

Steve pets the dog on the head happily, stopping only to scratch his chin.

 

“Oh, thank God!” a deep voice calls out, and Steve looks up to see a sweaty, panting Billy Hargrove, dressed in his lifeguard shorts and a tank top. The dog perks up and his fluffy tail starts wagging quickly. “Jesus, Lars, I’ve been running after you for 20 minutes!”

  
The dog looks at Billy with guilty eyes and yelps sadly. Billy stares at him sternly before his entire face relaxes and he smiles easily. “Dammit, I can’t stay mad at you. C’mere, boy.” Steve watches in shock as the dog runs to Billy, leaning sideways against his shins, resting his whole weight against Billy’s legs. Billy laughs and reaches down, petting the dog on the sides of his face. It seems like the dog is smiling, too, as Billy begins to use an honest-to-God _baby_ voice, telling the dog how relieved he is to have found him, telling him what a good boy he is.

 

Billy looks up, then, his blue eyes wide as he looks at Steve, like he forgot he was standing there watching this interaction unfold. “Thanks, man. I forget how strong this dog is sometimes. He ran after a squirrel or some shit and basically knocked me down.”

 

“He’s cute,” Steve responds simply, putting his hands on his hips.

 

“Yeah, he is, ain’t he?” Billy smiles and pets the dog, which seems to be _his_ , some more. Steve notes that the dog is all white except for some gray on his head, and is positively massive. Maybe almost 100 pounds. He can imagine a dog like this being able to knock someone like Billy Hargrove over. “I got him about a week ago from the shelter. I wasn’t gonna take him but then they told me he’d been there for almost a year now. So he’s mine.” Billy stands, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, his curls wild around his head. “Guess I gotta get better at walking him, huh?”

 

Steve feels a twinge of guilt that maybe Billy is embarrassed, feels like he needs to explain himself over this. “I mean… Shit happens, you know?”

 

Billy nods and smiles, and then grabs the dog's leash. “See ya around, Harrington,” he calls out, already running off in the direction he came, Lars at his side, tail wagging as they jog together.

 

Steve grins like an idiot, watching them disappear behind a row of trees. It’s the happiest that Steve's ever seen Billy Hargrove, he thinks, with a warm smile on his face, no hint of underlying malice.

 

It's a good look on him. Maybe _too_ good of a look, if the fluttering in Steve's chest is anything to go by.

 

* * *

“So,” Steve starts, eyes glancing in his rear view mirror. Max and Lucas sit side by side, their hands intertwined in Max’s lap. “You must be excited to have a new dog at home, Max.”

 

Max squints at him and shakes her head. “What are you talking about?”

 

Steve looks at the road ahead. Dustin turns his head, looking at him suspiciously. “You know, your brother has a new dog and all.”

 

“Oh,” she responds pensively. “I didn’t know Billy got a dog. That’s good.”

 

“How did you not know there was a dog in your house?”

 

Max shakes her head and scoffs. “Billy doesn’t live with us anymore, Steve. I told you guys this last week.”

 

“Uh, Steve wasn’t there when you told us, dipshit,” Dustin turns in his seat to glare at her.

 

Lucas’ eyes narrow. “Who you calling dipshit, dipshit?”

 

“Hey, _shitheads!_ I am trying to drive!”

 

Dustin begrudgingly turns back to face the front, murmuring something under his breath. It vaguely sounds like a curse.

 

“So, I guess you _didn’t_ hear,” Max says pointedly from the backseat. “But Billy turned 18 last week and moved out the next day.”

 

“Oh,” Steve responds, dumbly. “Where is he living?”

 

“A little apartment above the laundromat. It’s kind of a dump but it’s what he could afford.” Max huffs, looking out the window. She adds, muttering, “I don’t know why the hell he’d even leave in the first place.”

 

“Why do you even care about that, Max?” Lucas accuses, and Steve feels bad for Max as he eavesdrops on their quiet conversation in the backseat. Feels bad for bringing this up in the first place. “That guy’s an asshole. You should be happy he is out of your hair.”

 

“He wasn’t always bad. He’s gotten better since Halloween,” Max murmurs, eyes focused on the passing trees. “And the house is so quiet without him in it.”

 

Will quietly supplies from the other side of Lucas, “You can always come to my house, Max, if it’s too quiet at yours. I’m sure my mom wouldn’t mind. And my brother has tons of records we could listen to.”

 

Steve smiles to himself. God, these kids really tug at his heart strings sometimes.

 

* * *

“That will be 1.25, ma’am,” Steve says politely, handing the lady her ice cream cone. She smiles at him warmly and gives him two dollars, and tells him to keep the change.

 

And then Billy Hargrove is there in all his glory, tan skin gleaming with sweat. He’s wearing that damn lifeguard uniform _again_ , and Steve wonders if shorts could get any shorter. “Ahoy! Welcome to Scoops Ahoy. What can I serve you today?” he greets, practically on autopilot.

 

Billy’s eyebrows furrow and his mouth twitches. “Damn, you have to memorize all that, Harrington?”

 

“Yeah,” he replies, his cheeks flushing. “I have to say it to every customer.”

 

“Aw, so I’m not special,” Billy says with mock sadness, clutching at his heart. “Whatever will I do, pretty boy?”

 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Order your ice cream before I get old?”

 

“Ooh, someone’s feeling feisty today,” Billy teases. “I guess I’ll just get two scoops in a dish. One chocolate, one vanilla.”

 

Steve nods and scoops the ice cream into a dish. “$1.75, man.”

 

Billy lets out a low whistle. “Shit, that much for two scoops?” he asks, but puts the money on the counter regardless. “You know Benny's Burgers serves ice cream, too. And it's not 1.75 for 2 scoops.”

 

“I don't decide the prices, Hargrove.”

 

“Fair enough, pretty boy,” Billy acquiesces, and then begins eating his ice cream right there at the counter. Steve would normally tell him to go sit down, but there’s no one else at the shop right now, and, for some reason, Steve kind of _wants_ to talk to Billy right now.

 

“How’s the dog? Lars, was it?”

 

Billy’s face breaks into a beaming, wide smile. “You remembered, man! He's doing pretty good. Destroying my place one pillow at a time, though.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah, probably not the best idea to have a dog that big in a studio apartment. But when I saw him they had this whole sob story about him getting abused and no one wanting him, and fuck if that didn’t pull at the heart strings.”

 

“So you moved out of your house?” Steve questions, like he doesn't already know the answer.

 

Billy laughs grimly and shoves in another mouthful of ice cream. “Moved, kicked out, same shit, I guess.”

 

 _Oh_. Max hadn’t made it sound like Billy had been kicked out. Steve feels bad, all of a sudden, for bringing it up. “So the dog is ruining your place?”

 

“Yeah. I feel bad for him, mostly,” Billy responds, finishing the dish and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I walk him a lot on my days off, but I gotta work most days of the week. And I take him out in the morning and at night but he goes a little crazy being alone all day, I think.”

 

“I could help,” Steve blurts. Billy raises an eyebrow at him, leaning against the counter. “I don’t work on Mondays or Wednesdays. If you wanted to, I dunno, drop him off at my house or something. I’d be happy to take him for walks or bring him around with me. I’m sure the kids would like him, too.”

 

“You’d do that for me?” Billy asks, eyes squinting suspiciously.

 

“Yeah, sure. He’s a cute dog.”

* * *

And so that's how it comes to be that Billy is pulling up to Steve's driveway bright and early Monday morning with Lars panting excitedly in the passenger seat of the Camaro. Billy steps out of the car, puffing on a cigarette, in those tiny shorts _again_ , damn him. “Morning, amigo,” he calls out, and it almost reminds Steve of another time, a night that he tries his hardest _not_ to think about. And it’s easy to push the thought out of his mind when Billy is smiling from ear to ear, opening the passenger seat and walking a massive, kind dog up to Steve’s front door.

 

“Hey, Hargrove. Hi, Lars,” Steve adds, bending down to pat Lars on the head.

 

“So I wrote out some instructions for you, some emergency contacts, all that shit,” Billy says, pulling a piece of paper out of his back pocket. Steve notes that Billy writes in a scrawl, using all capital letters. “And if you take Lars’ leash, I will go grab a bag of kibble for his lunch.” Steve watches, heart swelling in his chest as Billy goes to grab the dog food in the backseat of his car.

 

“I get off work at about 6:30. Pool closes at 6 but I gotta clean up and shit afterward. And then I can swing by and pick him up.”

 

“Or…” Steve starts, clutching onto the leather handle of Lars’ leash. The dog sits at his feet, unaware of Steve’s internal turmoil, tail wagging happily. “I could bring him to your place? And I could grab a pizza along the way? We could eat dinner together.” Steve doesn’t really know where this invitation comes from, but he just wants to spend time with Billy, goddammit, wants to get to know this laid back, witty, _kind_ version of the blonde.

 

Billy looks at the ground, almost sheepishly, Steve might think, if Steve didn’t know him any better. “It’s a small place.”

 

“That’s okay. I don’t mind.” Billy eyes the massive expanse of Steve’s house warily. “Really. I don’t mind.”

 

“Okay, Harrington,” Billy finally relents, dropping the bag of kibble on the front porch. “The address is on that paper I gave ya. See you tonight, amigo.” He bends down and scratches Lars’ floppy ear. “Be a good boy, okay? I’ll see you later.” Steve watches in shock as Billy presses a quick kiss to the dog’s head and strides away. He zooms off in his car, and Steve can’t believe that he’s about to watch Billy fucking Hargrove’s dog for the day.

 

But Lars is a really cute dog, and Steve enjoys his day with him. They go for a walk around the neighborhood just before noon, and thankfully Lars doesn’t chase any squirrels. When Dustin shows up to play Steve’s Atari in the afternoon, he eyes the dog warily. He then begins to actually freak out when Steve explains whose dog this is. Steve understands, really, and he knows that Dustin isn’t really a dog person anyways.

 

But all it takes is Lars giving a couple of kisses to Dustin’s cheek and curling up near him on Steve’s couch to convince Dustin that Lars is, in fact, the cutest dog on the planet and why would the universe grant _Billy Hargrove_ the gift of such a kind animal.

 

Steve doesn’t grant that line of thought a response.

 

Once Dustin leaves around 4, Steve takes the dog on another walk around town, and as the clock gets closer and closer to 6, he feels his stomach start to clench and his heart to beat faster.

 

On the car ride to Billy’s apartment, Steve’s heart melts as Lars curls up in his passenger seat and falls fast asleep. Steve turns down the volume on the radio.

 

Steve pulls the Beemer up to the address Billy wrote for him and is happy to see that Billy is already waiting for him on the sidewalk. The apartment is up above the laundromat, and it’s not a total dive _per se_ , but it sure as hell isn’t luxurious, at least not from the outside.

 

Steve gets out of the car and smiles at him, all sorts of warm, gooey crap growing in his stomach at the sight of a tired, flushed Billy, with his curls damp around his head. “Your hair is wet,” he blurts.

 

“Yeah, had to do a rescue today,” Billy touches his hair. “Does it look that bad?”

 

Steve shakes his head furiously and gestures toward his car. “Someone is fast asleep in there.”

 

“Oh, great,” Billy responds, but it’s affectionate and warm. “Guess I’m going to have to carry him up to the apartment.”

 

“Or you could just wake him up.”

 

Billy laughs and shakes his head. “Nah, even if he wakes up he’s going to be a dead weight. He gets like that after he naps.”

 

Once again, Steve feels like he’s in an alternate universe as he watches Billy gently heave Lars up into his arms. “All of that bench pressing hasn’t been wasted,” Billy huffs out as he carries the massive dog in his arms. Steve grabs the pizza from the backseat of the car and follows Billy up the stairs. Once they’ve reached the top and made it to the side entrance to the apartment, Billy kind of awkwardly stands at the door. “Uh, would you grab my keys? They’re attached to my belt loop.”

  
Steve holds the pizza in one hand and reaches for the keys in the other, trying not to fixate on the fact that his hand is dangerously close to Billy’s junk. He opens the apartment, and Billy deposits a still sleeping Lars on the floor.

 

“I’m going to go take a shower. Can’t stand the chlorine in my hair. Make yourself at home, beers in the fridge,” Billy says, walking into the bathroom and leaving Steve standing awkwardly in the middle of his apartment.

 

Jesus, when Billy said it was small, that was kind of an understatement. There’s only one room, apart from the bathroom, and no couch. Just a small, full-sized mattress on the floor, facing the tiniest TV Steve has ever seen. A small cabinet stands near the TV, with a record player sitting on top. A dartboard is hanging up near a Metallica poster on the wall. He walks to the kitchenette and grabs a beer out of Billy’s miniature-sized fridge.

 

There’s no place to sit, really, so Steve just leans against the kitchen sink and sips his beer, looking at Lars who is still fast asleep on the floor. Finally, the water in the bathroom shuts off, and Billy emerges from the small bathroom, steam clouding up the room behind his head. He’s wearing nothing but a towel slung lowly on his hips. Steve’s mouth goes dry at his tan chest, and his eyes follow a drop of water falling from Billy’s shoulder, over his nipple, and down to the V of his pelvis.

 

“Forgot a change of clothes,” Billy supplies, before he’s reaching into the cabinet and pulling out athletic shorts and a shirt, and then he’s dropping the towel right there with Steve in the room, and Steve is forced to avert his eyes as Billy changes.

 

Sure, it makes sense. They’ve seen each other in the showers after basketball. But it feels different, here, and Steve thinks about anything and everything to avoid popping a boner in his denim shorts.

 

“You don’t have to just stand there,” a finally dressed Billy says, sauntering into the kitchenette. He reaches up into a cabinet and grabs two plates, shoving one at Steve. He notices that there is a chip on the edge of the plate, and the two don’t match each other. God, Steve’s mother would have a field day with this.

 

Billy grabs two slices of pizza and drops them on his plate before grabbing a beer for himself and walking over to his mattress. He sits cross legged on the mattress and pats the space near him.

 

So, Steve ends up eating admittedly cold pizza in Billy Hargrove’s studio apartment, sitting side by side with him as their knees brush together. He watches as Billy feeds his crusts to Lars with a grin, and then watches _Terminator_ on the world’s tiniest TV.

 

And, damn it all to hell, it’s the nicest time that Steve has had in a while.

* * *

They settle nicely into a routine of Billy dropping Lars off in the morning on Mondays and Wednesdays, and then meeting at night, sometimes at Billy’s and sometimes at Steve’s, to eat take-out and watch a movie.

 

Three weeks of this and Steve has got to admit: he’s got a big, queer, dopey crush on Billy Hargrove. He’s got a crush on Billy’s teasing smile, and his bright blue eyes, and his curly, sandy hair. He’s got a crush on the way Billy gives kisses to his dog, on the way Billy scoops him up when he’s tired like he’s a chihuahua and not a 100 pound beast. He’s got a crush on the way Billy sneaks Lars pizza crusts and french fries. He’s got a crush on the way Billy teases him, on the way he makes biting, mocking comments about the movies they watch.

 

Jesus, he’s got it bad. He hasn’t felt like this about anyone, not since Nancy, and even with Nancy Steve wasn’t sure it was this all-consuming. He can’t get the blonde and his loving, silly dog out of his head, no matter how hard he tries.

 

Which, if he cares to admit to himself, is not particularly hard. He really doesn’t try not to think about Billy.

 

They sit together on Steve’s couch, Lars strewn across Billy’s lap. _Alien_ is playing in the background, but neither of them are paying it any particular attention. Steve watches in amusement as Billy and Lars argue, which sounds _crazy_ because Lars is a dog, but it’s true - they _argue_. “Listen, I already gave you a walk. You got food and water. You are on a couch in the nicest house in Hawkins. What more do you want, you brat?”

 

Lars responds with a kind of howl talk that is difficult for Steve to describe. Billy rolls his eyes and responds with mock seriousness, “Don’t you take that tone with me, sir.”

 

Lars barks and licks at Billy’s face, and the pretend seriousness melts away. Billy starts laughing, grinning ear to ear as Lars kisses his face, and his tan arms encircle the furry white body in his lap. “Okay, boy. You win, you win.”

 

Steve smiles and touches Lars’ back paw aimlessly. “You should come over on Sunday,” he says, eyes fixed on the dog. “I’m having the kids over for a pool party. Max will be there. You can bring Lars.”

 

Billy looks forward at the TV, expression pensive. “Yeah, okay,” he finally answers, petting Lars’ big head where it rests in his lap.

 

* * *

Lars jumps into the pool with a splash, and the kids, _especially_ El, laugh in delight. At first, they weren’t sure how the dog would do with so many people around, but he positively basks in the limelight, and Steve’s pretty sure that everyone at the cookout, _Hopper included_ , has snuck the dog some kind of food.

 

Lucas, initially, was tentative to pet the dog, because of his _owner_ , but Steve watched on, pride growing in his stomach, as Billy pulled Lucas into the kitchen. He pressed a hand to his shoulder and honest-to-God apologized for how he acted. “But my dad sucks, Sinclair,” he added casually, pulling his hand away. “So, for your own good, keep things on the down-low with my sister. I’m telling you, you’ll thank me for it later.”

  
Steve frowns thinking about it. From the little that Billy has supplied about his dad, Steve has kind of been able to fill in the blanks as to what exactly the dynamic was over at the Hargrove house. It makes sense, puts things into perspective.

 

The conversation seems to put Lucas at ease, at least, and now he happily plays catch with Max and a sopping wet Lars, and Billy watches on from the pool deck. There is happy, playful noise all around them, the smell of burgers wafting from the grill as Hopper and Joyce cook. The kids swim in the pool and play with Lars.

 

Billy’s got a soft smile on his face, and Steve doesn’t comment on the fact that his eyes look slightly glassy, like he’s about ready to cry.

 

* * *

It all comes crashing down when one Monday, as Billy is opening the passenger door to let Lars out, the dog bolts away suddenly. Steve stands on in shock as the dog makes a run for it, and then they are both hopping into Billy’s car. Steve sits in silence in the passenger seat as Billy drives around the neighborhood like a maniac, searching desperately for his dog.

 

Once it’s 11 AM, and Billy is already an hour late for work, with still no sign of Lars anywhere, Billy pulls over on the side of the road and clenches his fists. He buries his face into his steering wheel and Steve tentatively reaches out, his hand rubbing at Billy’s back soothingly. “It’s gonna be okay, man,” Steve murmurs, and Billy’s shoulders start to shake slightly. “We are going to find him.”

 

“What if we don’t?” Billy demands, lifting his head wildly. It’s the angriest, the most desperate Steve has seen him in a long time. He pulls his hand away from Billy’s back. “What if something happens to him and it’s all my fault, Steve?”

 

“Nothing is going to happen to him. I’m sure someone will find him.”

 

“Fuck!” Billy blurts suddenly, punching the dashboard. It startles Steve, and he jumps. “I don’t know what I’m going to fucking do without this dog.”

 

“You’ll find him. _We’ll_ find him.”

 

Billy is spiraling, that much is clear. “That dog is the only thing I really fucking have, Harrington. And I’ve gone and screwed it all up. And now, if I don’t have the dog, then you really don’t have a reason to hang out with me, and _goddammit,_ Steve. I don’t want you to not hang out with me,” Billy admits harshly, staring down at his lap.

 

Steve’s mind reels. “I’m not going to not hang out with you, Billy,” he soothes, and tentatively reaches for Billy’s hand. He squeezes it briefly before pulling away, embarrassed. “We are going to find our dog, Billy.”

 

And if he notices the slip, Billy doesn’t comment on the fact that Steve calls Lars _our dog._

 

* * *

Later that night, some time around 11 PM, Billy dozes on Steve’s couch. He called out of work, too on edge to be useful at the pool, and they spent the better part of the day searching the town for Lars. After they didn’t find him, they ended up sitting on the couch watching a movie, trying desperately not to think about the dog.

 

Steve’s glad that Billy is asleep. At least if he’s asleep then he can’t worry, which is what he’s done for the past 12 hours. Steve watches as his chest rises and falls, his dark eyelashes fanning out on his cheeks. Fuck, he’s so goddamn beautiful. Steve wants to reach out and touch his face, touch the tan expanse of his cheek. And he almost does, his hand reaching out, before his home phone starts blaring, the harsh squeal waking Billy up. His blue eyes open blearily and he glares at Steve, voice thick with sleep, “Will you pick up the fucking phone already, man?”

 

Steve rolls his eyes and grabs the phone, says hello. “Hi Steve,” Joyce Byers’ kind voice echoes on the other end. “I wasn’t sure of Billy’s number so I thought I’d call you. His dog is at my house,” she adds, with a laugh.

 

“Billy!” Steve shouts, pulling the receiver away from his face. “Lars is at the Byers’ house!”

 

“Damn,” Billy replies, standing up from the couch and grinning wildly. “I wonder how he got all the way over there?”

 

“Oh, Billy is there with you?” Joyce asks, something suspicious in her tone. “Why don’t you guys come over and get him?”

 

Billy drives to the Byers’ so fast that Steve white-knuckles the passenger door handle the entire way there. He pulls into the driveway and stops suddenly, turning the car off. Steve expects Billy to fly out of the car, but Billy goes quiet all of a sudden, gazing at the Byers’ front porch. Steve’s stomach drops. _Oh_ , he thinks. _Billy hasn’t been here since that night_.

 

“I’m sorry,” the blonde blurts out, clutching at the wheel. “God, I’m so fucking _sorry_ , Steve. I can’t believe that I almost fucking killed you in this house.”

 

"Yeah, I guess you did, huh?" Steve laughs and gazes at the house. 

 

"Do you think that's fucking funny, Harrington? You got a death wish or something?"

 

"No," Steve responds, shaking his head. "Just thinking about the fact that I probably would have won that fight, if you hadn't hit me over the head with a fucking plate." Steve laughs again, and Billy smiles, too, albeit tentatively. 

 

"Not sure about that, man. You really suck at punching," Billy teases, but then his face drops and he gets all stoic again. Steve can't take it. "I really am sorry. I can't believe I did that shit to you." 

 

“Relax, Bill,” Steve soothes. It almost seems silly for Billy to apologize now, when that night is so very distant in Steve’s mind. When the Billy that sits across from him and the Billy that he fought with that night are such different people. “Let’s go get the dog.”

* * *

When they enter the Byers’ house Lars immediately comes running to Billy, hopping up on his hind legs to rest his front paws on Billy’s hip. Billy bends down and wraps his arms gently around the dog, his eyes wet with tears. His voice is wet as he murmurs, “Don’t you ever do that again, Lars. Dammit, don’t ever do that again.”

 

Steve feels the thing he’s felt in his chest for the past month soar as he watches Billy cry openly, hugging his dog. “Jesus, sorry,” Billy mutters, wiping furiously at his eyes. “I cry easily, I guess.”

 

“C'mon, Billy,” Steve murmurs. “It’s late. Let's get out of Mrs. Byers’ hair.” Joyce begins to protest, but Steve just gives her a look that screams _let me get him out of here before he cries all over your living room_. She seems to understand, because she bids them a gentle goodnight, and Billy scoops the dog up into his arms, holding him close as he carries him to the car.

 

Steve drives the Camaro back to his house, and lets Billy sit in the passenger seat, Lars in his lap.

 

Lars sleeps peacefully on Steve’s couch, and Billy stands in the kitchen, leaning against the countertop. His eyebrows are scrunched, fists clenched as he presses his weight against the counter.

 

Steve can’t hold it in anymore. “What you said earlier, Billy… about me not having a reason to hang out with you anymore. That’s not true. I need you to know that’s _not_ fucking true.”

 

“Yeah, I know, Harrington. Jesus.”

 

“No, _listen_ , you little shit,” Steve urges, pressing a finger against Billy’s chest. “You need to hear this, okay? You need to know that you matter to me. Probably more than you should.”

 

Billy gapes at him, his blue eyes widening. “Steve…” he trails off. His gaze doesn’t leave Steve’s.

 

“Shut. Up. Just shut up,” Steve says, harshly, and then he can’t help it anymore. He grabs the side of Billy’s face and notices how his eyes widen before Steve closes his own eyes and leans forward, gently brushing their lips together. Billy lets out a harsh breath and then he throws his arms around Steve’s shoulders, kissing back urgently.

 

They stand like that in the kitchen, kissing passionately over and over again. Jesus, it’s everything Steve’s ever pictured and more. Billy’s soft, plush lips under his make him feel like he's tasting heaven. Billy pulls him closer, and Steve breathes in the soft musk of Billy’s skin, the sweet melon scent of his shampoo. 

 

God, Steve could kiss like this forever. But a harsh bark echoes around them, and Billy pulls away suddenly, taken out of the moment. Lars is at their feet, worming his body between theirs, his tail wagging and slapping against their legs with a loud _thud thud thud_. And Steve breaks out into giggles, Billy joining in, both of them laughing hysterically with a giant, 100 pound dog at their feet.

 

 _Perfect_ , Steve thinks, resting his forehead against Billy's, still laughing.  _This is perfect._  

  
  
  
  



End file.
